


weird kind of date

by ncfan



Series: Femslash February [24]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Princess of Alderaan - Claudia Gray, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Ball gowns, Bechdel Test Pass, Dresses, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Femslash February 2018, POV Female Character, Rarepair, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 10:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13832415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: Amilyn's idea of asking someone out on a date is... certainly unique.





	weird kind of date

There’s something a little surreal about firing a new blaster in actual combat. It’s like going to sleep with both of your normal hands only to wake up the following morning to find that you have two new hands, with little to no explanation. They work fine; your fingers and your thumbs all move the way they ought to. They work fine, but it’s still… different. The muscle memory programmed into the hands is completely different than what you’re used to; when you go to perform routine tasks, your hands take a minute to figure out just what they’re supposed to be doing.

Of course, this little blaster, as foreign as it feels in Sabine’s hand, was the only thing that would fit in a holster small enough to not be immediately visible under the skirt of her ball gown. There’s something rather surreal about trying to fight in a ball gown, too. Surreal, and absolutely _hellish_. Roughly five minutes after she first put this indigo contraption on, she wanted to rip it off and throw it in a furnace. Trying to have a firefight in it only intensifies the urge, and the only reason Sabine just doesn’t rip her skirt off at mid-thigh and toss it at her attackers is because the floaty skirt was treated to carry blast-dampening properties.

What Sabine wouldn’t have given for a gown tailored in a Mandalorian style. Even the frilliest of Mandalorian formal wear affords so much more freedom of movement than this… thing. Provides for a lot more places to hide blasters and vibroblades, too; her mother once hid four blasters, two vibroblades, an electrowhip and a grenade in one of her gowns. But Mandalorian formal wear is quite distinctive to anyone who’s seen it even once, and showing up to an Imperial function wearing it (if Sabine could even have gotten her hands on such a gown), would have given the game away far too soon.

Not that she and Amilyn had lasted too long before their cover was blown.

Speaking of Amilyn…

Sabine dives behind the table Amilyn flipped to provide herself with some cover while she tries to gun down some of the stormtroopers advancing on them. With a critical eye, Sabine can’t help but notice that she still isn’t a very good shot. She’s definitely better than she used to be, can actually hit a moving target now, but still, a lot of the bolts screaming out of her blaster are hitting the opposite wall instead of warm bodies. They’d have to practice some more once they got back to base.

“Did you get through to Hera?” Sabine asks as she settles in beside Amilyn, pressed close to her side.

“Yes.” She can feel Amilyn’s pulse racing in her arm; though her mouth is quirking in a smile, her voice carries a slight tremor that Sabine has learned to identify quickly in a fight. “We have about ten minutes before someone comes to get us.”

Sabine grimaces. Ten minutes can become eternity all too quickly in situations like these. “This dress,” she snarls, fisting her free hand in the stupid skirt that’s been tangling around her legs all night. “I couldn’t even hide a smoke bomb under it. Right, we’ll just have to hold this position until reinforcements arrive. How’s the charge on your blaster?”

Amilyn stops shooting long enough to examine her blaster more closely, face sharpening in a frown as she does so. “Good. I think. I’ve got about sixty percent capacity.” She laughs suddenly, giddy and almost tipsy, though Sabine knows she didn’t hit the bar before they were discovered. “It’s better than empty.”

“Better than empty, yeah,” Sabine echoes, worrying at her lip. “We’re just gonna have to hold out here. Don’t fire shots in a spray; it just wears the charge down faster.”

This is met with another smile, slightly steadier, with that flash of teeth Sabine privately admits is _really_ appealing. “Yes, ma’am.”

The next few minutes pass by in relative silence, punctuated only by blaster fire. The civilians—as much as any high-ranking Imperial on the Rim can ever be a civilian—have finally all cleared out of the ballroom, leaving the stormtroopers, Sabine, and Amilyn. It’s not like there’s too many stormtroopers; not enough for the bucketheads to just mob them, mercifully. They’ve taken up positions on opposite sides of the ballroom, exchanging fire and just trying not to get shot. But though the odds aren’t quite as overwhelmingly against them as they often are, Sabine can’t really take her attention off of the job at hand.

She can’t really afford to look away from the stormtroopers for long, so she feels, rather than sees, Amilyn looking at her. “I thought your dress was quite nice,” Amilyn says suddenly. “The lights in the skirt suit you.”

“They’re gonna be a pain when we’re trying to outrun these guys,” Sabine points out—not that Amilyn’s dress is much better in that regard. She has cake splattered all down her front, but not enough to obscure the highly reflective fire node sequins that encrust the skirt and bodice of her gown. Shine a light on that and Amilyn becomes a beacon, fast.

“Still, I think your dress is very pretty. And you wear it quite well.”

At that, Sabine frowns, mulling a few things over in her head. Amilyn had come to her excited when she told her about this undercover mission. _Very_ excited. She’d stayed that way through the briefing, through their trip to a sympathetic-to-the-Rebellion dressmaker to pick up proper disguises (and, to be fair, before she’d actually had to walk around in this dress and fight in this dress, Sabine had thought it was pretty), and through last-minute preparations before heading off to this party to try and pick up fresh intel.

“Amilyn,” she says, and her voice sounds the way the blaster feels in her hand; like she was given a new voice that she only technically knows how to use, but in practice has next to no experience with. “Command gave _you_ this mission, right?”

“That’s right.” Amilyn gnaws at her lip as she aims at a stormtrooper again; she gets his arm, but judging by the scowl that claws at her lips, she was aiming for something rather more fatal.

“They gave _you_ this mission. You could have asked for anyone to accompany you. Why did you ask me?”

Amilyn shrugs, none-too-subtly looking away from Sabine’s face. “Oh… I just thought you would enjoy it.”

And with that, the last puzzle piece slots into place inside Sabine’s mind.

“Amilyn?”

“Yes?”

Not without affection: “The next time you want to ask me out on a date, just ask me out on a date.”

“But this is much more exciting!” Amilyn exclaims, staring at Sabine as though she isn’t quite sure who she is. “The only place to go on base is the cantina. I didn’t think you’d want to go to the cantina on a _date_.”

Sabine would love to dispute that. She’s always been taught that the battlefield and romance do _not_ mix, and that she shouldn’t try to _make_ them mix. All the same… “Fair.”

“So, what do you want to do next?” Amilyn asks cheerily, as though they aren’t engaged in a firefight with stormtroopers, more of them popping seemingly out of thin air with each passing minute. “Sneak into a moff’s office, infiltrate an Imperial Academy?”

Sabine smirks. “I want to get this dress off.”

Amilyn giggles, twin spots of color painting her cheekbones pink. “That sounds fun, too.”

“I thought you might like that.”

After all, even if there aren't too many places to go on base, it's not like there's nothing to _do_.


End file.
